


A Working Relationship

by Valkyrien



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU, M/M, Odin's A+ Parenting, Overbearing Brother-Types Complicating Life FTW, Things Happen At University Okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-18 10:11:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valkyrien/pseuds/Valkyrien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Steve even knows who Loki is, he knows he needs to draw him. When Loki agreed, he couldn't have known what would come of it.</p><p>A dysfunctional family that neither really cares nor approves, friends who know more about what's going on than the main characters do, and all the drama that ensues when things are no more clearly defined than life and the people involved allow them to be and young people are finding their way into their own selves as well as into their place in the nonsensical and frustrating world of real adulthood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Working Relationship

**Author's Note:**

> I presently have no excuse for this, except that I find Loki/Steve unbearably perfect together.

 

 

 

   In theory, approaching another human being with intent to converse shouldn’t be at all intimidating or difficult. It required nothing more than a little pluck and some good manners to fall back on once the initial contact had been established. Steve Rogers knew this. Steve Rogers was a courteous, personable young man with a pleasantly soft voice and a sincere, handsome face. Most people were perfectly amenable to having a conversation with him when approached. But of course, having one at all required approaching the other person first, and in this case Steve Rogers found his pluck deserting him almost before he’d begun to formulate his excuse for wanting a conversation in the first place.

 

 

   The issue was that there were many issues. Or rather, there were a great many things Steve felt were holding him back, even things that would not usually strike him as issues which might be an obstacle to his goals.

 

 

   Firstly there was the fact that he had absolutely no idea who this person was, beyond basic facial characteristics and a rough idea of where to find said individual, making any potential introduction fraught with the potential for serious social faux pas – some people, Steve knew from experience, just did not appreciate being approached by total strangers.

 

 

   Secondly there was the strange truth that the person whose acquaintance Steve sought seemed only ever to appear in public in the company of what Steve could only see as being an endless supply of attractive people, the majority of whom seemed to be young and female from what Steve could tell, and as most people will know, approaching someone attractive who are themselves in the company of attractive people is always twice as harrowing as approaching a lone attractive person for any reason.

 

 

   Thirdly, Steve had noticed that the person to whom he longed to be introduced always appeared to be in transit in some way or another – always on the move or looking too busy to stand still and be prevailed upon to speak to new people who were not previously relevant – and Steve knew that it was rude to interrupt people who clearly had other, pressing matters to see to.

 

 

   Fourthly, Steve Rogers was man enough to admit to himself in the lonely privacy of his room at roughly 11 PM some nights that approaching someone who made a guy feel at once completely inferior by dint of being so attractive as to render all internal organs a runny, useless mush of helpless appreciation, and so intriguing as to cause all Steve’s carefully conserved courage to short out like the dying static of a drowning mobile phone in a sink full of soapy water, was quite a daunting prospect and would seem so to most sensible people.

 

 

   Bucky did not see things the same way.

 

 

   “What’s so hard about it? Just march up to the guy, smile, say hello, and take it from there!”

 

 

   Steve shook his head mournfully, with a little quirk of sardonic amusement to his mouth that told Bucky exactly how foolish that was a plan to someone who had actually seen this person.

 

 

   “It’s not that simple, Buck, trust me. You haven’t seen him. It’s like – it’d be like walking up to Mae West or – or Greta Garbo – or Katharine Hepburn – ” he tried to explain, hands waving animatedly, and Bucky looked at him with a solemn concern.

 

 

   “Steve. Did you just compare the guy to _Katharine Hepburn?_ ” he asked, carefully as if to be certain that Steve not read anything into his tone and question that he didn’t mean to be there, and Steve waved away the inevitable misunderstanding with an impatient hand.

 

 

   “Yes, sort of, but not like that. The point is that it’s like walking up to someone _like her_ and just starting a conversation. That’s not something you can just do,” he argued, and Bucky grinned at him in that way he had of conveying how hopeless he thought Steve was without making Steve feel simultaneously foolish and mocked for it.

 

 

   “If everyone thought like that, then no one would have any friends. Hell, no one would ever talk to anyone at all!” Bucky insisted with a laugh, and then shook his head and adopted a more serious, caring expression.

 

 

   “Look. I’m pretty sure anyone would be flattered to have someone with your kinda talent waltz up and ask to draw them, and I’m pretty damn sure that everyone on the planet’s just a human being deep down. Under all that pretty skin and those pretty eyes, he’s just a regular person like you or me. Sure he’s a looker, but that doesn’t make him any different to the rest of us. There’s no real good reason to be chicken about talking to the guy,” Bucky informed Steve, an exasperated sort of fondness to his smile, and Steve fidgeted and shrugged and shook his head.

 

 

   “I guess not,” he allowed, and Bucky sighed.

 

 

   “If it’s driving you crazy and you’re not going to do anything about it on your own, maybe it’s time to pick a different strategy,” he said, and Steve frowned.

 

 

   “Like what?”

 

 

 

 

   SSSSSS

 

 

   “I might know someone who can help,” Bucky had said, and now Steve found himself standing outside what looked like a gym of some sort, waiting for someone named ‘Natasha’ whom Steve had never heard mentioned before.

 

 

   Natasha turned out to be an attractive young lady with a Russian background who had just finished what appeared to have been a very fulfilling ballet class – judging by the pleased yet tired way she carried herself, the serene look on her face, and the colour in her cheeks – with a bag slung over her shoulder and the same red hair Steve was certain he’d seen on another of the females he’d witnessed his elusive muse speaking to from afar.

 

 

   Steve could barely contain himself, and as soon as Bucky had the introductions over with – Natasha had a firm, competent handshake that made Steve feel a little self-conscious about the way his own must have been a tad shaky due to his excitement – he was off.

 

 

   “I’ve seen you with him!” he blurted, perhaps a little over-eager, but found himself unable to stop even though Natasha’s eyes widened a fraction and she blinked as though trying to decide whether there was something the matter with him.

 

 

   “Well, just that one time, but you’d definitely remember – tall, pale, dark hair, green eyes – kind of, anyway, I mean, they’re not really green, they’re – yeah, they’re green, but it’s a special kind of green - ?” he belatedly realised how ridiculous he must sound and bit his tongue to stifle any further nonsense he might suddenly spout, but Natasha seemed to be a young lady who appreciated a direct approach, and gave him a considering look.

 

 

   “Loki,” she said, with that hint of an accent about her voice, and before Steve could voice the confusion his face no doubt displayed quite vividly, she elaborated,

 

 

   “That’s his name. Loki.”

 

 

   Steve tasted the name in all its strangeness and found it suited the otherworldly creature of his artistic dreams.

 

 

   “Do you know him? Or just know _of_ him?” Bucky asked her, and she laughed, some disbelief to the sound.

 

 

   “You’re telling me you don’t?” she demanded, clearly not buying it, and Bucky shrugged.

 

 

   “Never heard of him. Never seen him either, though Steve’s told me plenty – ” Steve flushed and ducked his head to stare resolutely at his shoes at this, and Bucky continued, now sounding interested.

 

 

   “So who is he then?”

 

 

   “Loki’s the second son of Odin Alfadr. The Aesir family? That’s old, old money. Nobility, aristocracy – royalty, even,” Natasha told them, darting a hard look at Steve.

 

 

   “He’s also my friend,” she added in a slightly more firm tone than was necessary, Steve felt, and he met her gaze as well as he could. She nodded at him once.

 

 

   “What do you want with him?” she asked, and Steve bit his lip for a second before deciding it was best to just come right out with it.

 

 

   “I want to draw him. Paint him, maybe, if he’d agree to it,” he said honestly, and Natasha’s brow crinkled.

 

 

   “Why?” she asked simply, as if not understanding why he’d want to, or maybe not understanding what purpose he wanted whatever drawings he might create for.

 

 

   “Because – ” _because he has galaxies in his eyes; he’s all I can think about putting down on paper when I try to draw but I can’t manage it because I’ve never looked at him long enough to get to know his face as well as I’d need to; because he’s perfect and unreal and if I don’t paint him I’ll never paint anyone ever again_ –

 

 

   “Because I’m an artist,” Steve settled on, and Natasha smiled.

 

 

   “I can introduce you,” she told them,

 

 

   “I think he’d like that.”

 

 

   Steve beamed at the world.

 

 

 

 

LLLLLLL

 

 

   Natasha was as good as her word, telling Steve to meet her at the same place and time the following week, and Steve showed up ten minutes early out of pure exhilarated anticipation. He’d been all aflutter with it for days, the idea that he was finally going to meet _Loki_ , and while Steve assumed Natasha had told him all about what Steve wanted, Steve still wanted to make a good impression. He’d even been to a life class earlier so he had some of his work in his bag to verify his claim of being an artist in the first place, and he just couldn’t wait to stand face to face with his distant muse and take it all in.

 

 

   An even-featured youth of about Steve’s age, with intense eyes, was waiting in the same place under the tree, a coffee cup in each hand, the steam giving away how fresh they were. Steve nodded to him cheerfully and settled his bag on the ground between his feet to wait.

 

 

   “Who’re you here for?” the young man asked, and Steve smiled.

 

 

   “I’m waiting for Natasha,” he divulged. The man blinked.

 

 

   “That’s my girlfriend,” he said slowly. Steve’s smile faltered.

 

 

   “Oh. Well, she asked me to come. She’s supposed to be introducing me to a friend of hers,” he explained, and the young man nodded as if this wasn’t all that uncommon after all.

 

 

   “Tasha knows everyone,” he informed Steve, who relaxed a little and smiled more brightly.

 

 

   “Well I’m sure grateful to her for doing this for me,” Steve said happily, and the young man seemed not to quite know how to deal with the sunshine pouring from Steve’s very skin. Luckily, he didn’t have to come up with an appropriate response because Natasha herself exited the building and called,

 

 

   “Clint!” and waved, and he broke into a grin and lifted one of the cups in her direction as a greeting. She lingered by the door for another few seconds, clearly waiting for someone, and was finally joined by the long-limbed, dark-haired, green-eyed vision of Steve’s artistic fantasies. They strolled companionably towards where Steve and Clint waited, but while they were clearly speaking together and Steve could have probably caught some of their conversation if he’d tried, all Steve could hear was the rushing of blood in his ears while he gaped at his approaching muse.

 

 

   _Loki_.

 

 

   Steve thought there really ought to be some sort of soundtrack to moments like these, that people who looked like that, walked like that, should have choirs singing in the background to emphasise their presence. Steve couldn’t take his eyes off him. Every line was perfect. From the glow of his skin to the way his hair fell, swept away from his face somehow and gathered at the nape of his neck, he was already a work of art and Steve’s hands itched to draw him.

 

 

   “Steve,” Natasha greeted him, taking the cup of coffee Clint proffered with a smile,

 

 

   “I see you’ve met Clint.” Steve nodded, forcing himself to stop gaping at Loki, who was – impossibly – even more stunning in high definition 3D.

 

 

   “Yeah,” he managed, sounding as breathless as he felt, and for a single terrifying moment he thought he might be on the way to an asthma attack before he calmed himself and remembered that he was much better now and they shouldn’t be triggered by everyday stress anymore.

 

 

   “Well, this is Loki,” Natasha said with a hint of amusement, gesturing at the man himself, and Steve felt himself flush with no small amount of embarrassment and just about forced out a whispered,

 

 

   “Hey,” before his throat constricted at the twinkle in Loki’s eye and the twitch of a smile on his lips. Natasha transferred her attention to Loki and said,

 

 

   “Loki, this is Steve Rogers. He’s the art student I told you about, and he’d like to draw you for his portfolio,” she said, with the air of having passed on this information before and reiterating it solely for the comfort of everyone present, to establish why they were there.

 

 

   “Really?” Loki asked, although it seemed rhetorical, and Steve didn’t care whether he wanted an answer or not because he had the silkiest, most pleasant speaking voice Steve had ever heard, and Steve found himself entertaining vivid fantasies of having long conversations about everything under the sun with Loki while Steve drew him in every conceivable pose.

 

 

   “Yeah – yes. I – I’d really like to. If you don’t mind,” Steve said as confidently as he could, and Loki’s expression grew considering, the glint of amusement still lighting up the stars in his eyes.

 

 

   “I’m sure we could come to some understanding,” Loki agreed, and Steve broke into a relieved grin.

 

 

   “Really? That’s – that’s really great, thank you! Um – oh, um – I – I can’t actually pay you or – or anything...” Steve trailed off, his enthusiasm fizzling out rather sadly as he realised that obviously Loki’s time was worth something and that Steve wouldn’t be able to reimburse him for it. It wasn’t like asking to draw a friend, where they wouldn’t mind showing up and just enjoying your company while you drew them; Loki didn’t even know Steve – the chances of him being interested in just sitting around while Steve drew him and maybe spoke to him were slim.

 

 

   “Pay me?” Loki appeared a little puzzled by the suggestion, and frowned slightly.

 

 

   “That won’t be necessary. May I see some of your work?” he asked, and Steve reached down to grab his bag and fumbled with it until he pulled out a sheaf of papers from a folder.

 

 

   “Sure! Uh – here,” he said happily, trying to conceal the nervousness he was feeling as he handed the drawings over. Loki took them carefully, as though not wanting to wrinkle or smudge anything, and looked through them with a vaguely critical air about him. Belatedly, Steve realised that they weren’t the drawings from his life class but a series of doodles he’d done of Bucky, a portrait of his own mother, a drawing of the flower he’d found miraculously unscathed in the middle of the recently-mown lawn outside his building a few days ago, and a preliminary sketch of Peggy in a hat.

 

 

   He reached out to take them back, stuttering,

 

 

   “W - wait, those – th- those aren’t the – ” but Loki fixed him with an intense look and smiled at him as if in challenge.

 

 

   “These are good, Steve Rogers,” Loki said slowly, in the same way Bucky sometimes told him to stop apologising for everything.

 

 

   “You have talent. I would be pleased to allow you to draw me.”

 

 

 

 

LLLLLLL

 

 

   “So, what’s he like?” she asked, leaning forward a little to see what he was doing, and Loki frowned.

 

 

   “Hold still,” he cautioned, carefully painting a wide stroke of gold lacquer over the nail of her left index finger, and she pouted remorsefully.

 

 

   “I’m sorry. Tell me what he’s like?” she asked again, and Loki sighed and tilted his head to focus on painting her thumbnail.

 

 

   “He seems nice,” he said vaguely. Sigyn snorted.

 

 

   “Nice? Loki, _puppies_ are nice, people are more complex than that,” she insisted, and Loki’s expression pinched briefly into unhappiness before smoothing out again.

 

 

   “I know that,” he said blankly, inspecting her right little finger nail before applying the gold to it.

 

 

   “He was very polite. Shy. Seemed to believe I would refuse,” he elaborated.

 

 

   “Why didn’t you?” she asked, brow crinkling in confusion, and Loki paused, dipping the brush into the pot and drawing it out slowly, smoothing the excess off on the rim.

 

 

   “He draws beautifully, and he felt... sincere,” he said at last, bending his head to concentrate on painting her ring finger nail.

 

 

   “Sincere? About wanting to draw you, or in general?” Sigyn questioned, and Loki glanced up.

 

 

   “About everything. He fairly reeked of sincerity. I’ve never seen anything like it. It was... different. Interesting,” he said slowly, and Sigyn sighed.

 

 

   “You will be careful, won’t you?”

 

 

   “I am always careful,” Loki responded, rather blandly, and Sigyn eyed him levelly.

 

 

   “Loki... You know I love you,” she confirmed. Loki just turned her hand this way and that, checking the newly-painted nails for fault.

 

 

   “I think if this guy really is what you say – if that sincerity’s real, I mean – I think that would be good for you,” she said honestly. Loki looked up, green eyes swimming for a brief moment before he blinked and they were once again red-rimmed and tired, but otherwise without a trace of negative emotion.

 

 

   “He just wants to draw me,” he said quietly, not taking his gaze from hers.

 

 

   “Loki, no one could spend any real time with you on your own without eventually wanting to do something more than that,” Sigyn said fondly, and Loki shrugged.

 

 

   "We'll see," he allowed.

 

 

 

 

SSSSSSS

 

 

   "So, Bucky tells me you finally met him," Peggy said, giving him a rather pointed look, and Steve flushed and rounded out a line with a little more care than necessary.

 

 

   "What's he like?" she pressed, and Steve shrugged.

 

 

   "He seems nice," he said finally, after a somewhat laboured internal search for a word that didn't sound like he needed to fan himself at the thought of how meeting Loki for the first time had gone - _surprisingly well, better than expected, even!_

 

 

   "Good," Peggy said firmly,

 

 

   "I don't like to think of you running around after some guy who turned out to be a jerk."

 

 

   Steve looked up from his shading with a scandalised expression on his face.

 

 

   "He's not a jerk! He was really polite about the whole thing, it was great - he doesn't even want me to pay him or anything!" he protested, and Peggy tapped her lips with one red-painted nail, humming thoughtfully.

 

 

   "Well that's great, sweetheart, but how many sessions are you going to need him for?" she asked, and Steve paused, considering it.

 

 

   Ideally, he'd have an unlimited number of sessions to work with, to really let his creative energy flow so he could capture Loki properly, and that was just after he'd gone through the process of getting to know his lines so he could do a good job. That could take anywhere from three to six sessions, and then of course there was the question of possibly painting him eventually. That would need a lot more time. Steve supposed he could work from pictures to clean up details, but he preferred to work with things that lived and breathed and had a palpable life to them - working from photos just wasn't the same as working with a model in the same room as him.

 

 

   “I don’t know,” Steve said slowly,

 

 

   “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

 

 

   Peggy smiled sympathetically, knowing only too well what he was like when fired up with artistic ambitions.

 

 

   “Well you’d better ask him how many sessions he’s willing to sit for,” she advised,

 

 

   “Some people don’t like it, and you don’t know how busy he is, he might not have time to do too many.”

 

 

   Steve nodded and returned to his drawing with a worried frown creasing his brow, and Peggy sat in silence for a few minutes before asking,

 

 

   “Did you like him?”

 

 

   Steve smiled despite himself and glanced up to see her watching him carefully, allowing his smile to widen into a full grin.

 

 

   “I guess I did.” Peggy nodded slowly, a worried frown of her own appearing between her perfect brows, and said,

 

 

   “Good. Just... Be careful, okay?”

 

 

   “I’m always careful, Peg,” Steve said happily, good spirits restored, and Peggy smiled dimly.

 

 

   “I know,” she told him,

 

 

   “Just promise you’ll keep it up.”

 

 

   “I will,” Steve promised, and her smile glittered a little brighter at his sincerity.

 

 

   “Good. Because you know I love you and I’d hate to see you hurt,” she said honestly, and Steve put aside his pad and reached over to her, taking her hand and squeezing it lightly.

 

 

   “I’ll be okay. I love you too,” he said, and she leaned in and kissed his cheek, leaving a slight lipstick impression, and then let him go with a little shooing motion that he laughed at as he picked up his pad and settled in to darken her eyelashes further with the very point of his pencil. 

 

 

   “You’d like him, you know,” Steve mumbled as he drew,

 

 

   “Least I hope you do.”

 

 

   “We’ll see,” Peggy said lightly.


End file.
